G'day! Pull up a chair! Join me at the kitchen table for a chat...let's toss a few thoughts around about the state of this crazy but wonderful world we inhabit. There's lots to discuss! Make yourself comfortable! Would you like a glass of wine?

Sunday, July 13, 2014

HMMMMM…..WHAT DO I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP?

Even after decades pondering this difficult, massive,
life-altering decision I still haven’t a clue what I want to be when I grow up.
Like a grasshopper, I jump from idea to idea. Do I really have to make my mind
up today?

Once upon a time long ago, inspired by many visits to
circuses, to be a trapeze artist flew high on my list; but after a few practice
sessions, that idea came crashing down with a thud.

After reading articles and watching newsreels about prima ballerina
Margot Fonteyn, and following the graceful en pointe techniques of Australian
ballet dancer, Marilyn Jones, a prima ballerina I would be. In reality,
what was the point?There was little
chance of that particular dream coming into fruition because my ballet lessons
lasted for about a year only – not enough time to fulfill my dream. I was
devastated when I discovered I’d need more than 12 months’ worth of lessons to
reach the dizzy heights of Fonteyn or Jones.

Pirate movies stirred the urges to become a
cutlass-brandishing pirate-girl while wearing knee-high boots and a flouncy
pirate’s blouse, minus eye patch. Thoughts of running away to be a pirate still
linger.

Being a cowgirl was
considered; a desire heightened regularly by the westerns shown at Saturday
matinees. If given a choice I’d have chosen to be an alluring, glamorous
Hollywood-version of Annie Oakley or Calamity Jane, rather than one of the dance
hall girls; although I did love their captivating gowns; so to be a dance hall
girl did have its attractions, too. I
could have been tempted if a handsome, gun-twirling, whip-cracking cowboy strolled into the bar....

Any thoughts of being a pirate pillaging and plundering on
the high seas, or a cowgirl riding the ranges soon changed when I saw “Elephant
Walk” starring Elizabeth Taylor and Peter Finch.

Liz met Finch in a bookstore. It was a case of love at first
sight when they set eyes on each other.Oh! The romance of it all! It was then I decided I wanted a job in a
bookshop or library when I grew up; or become a movie star. For a while my head
floated aloft amongst the ethereal clouds when dreaming about either plan.

Perhaps I should’ve frequented more milk bars. At only 16
years old, Lana Turner, one afternoon after high school, was discovered while
sipping soda in a milk bar/drugstore; but, as mentioned in a previous post, I
wasn’t fond of milkshakes, or of hanging around milk bars, thereby limiting my
chances of being “discovered”.Also, I
didn’t like wearing skin-tight sweaters or twinsets. In particular, I was never
a member of the “twinset” set; skintight or otherwise; and, I wasn’t a pearl
sort of girl.

At the age of 17 I had a “light bulb moment, but it soon
dimmed.A nurse! That’s what I’d be – a
nurse! I’d go to Brisbane;
to the Princess Alexandra Hospital, where I’d do my training. Brimmed with excitement at the thought, I
raced home from work during my lunch hour to inform my mother of my momentous
decision. Time was of the essence; and I didn’t want to waste it. Mum was
sitting before the mirror on her duchess, applying make-up in readiness to go
to town or to work.She listened,
showing great interest as I breathlessly prattled on at high speed. When I finally gasped for air, without hesitation and not missing a beat, my mother agreed it would be a wonderful
idea.Her acceptance without argument of
my plan immediately deflated me.Her agreement to my plan burst my
bubble; my balloon.I never did become a
nurse.Reverse psychology worked at its
best!

Similar happened when I came up with another new, even
brighter idea. I’d join the Air Force; but that meant I’d have to live even further away from
home; and although the idea of leaving hearth and home was a thrilling
prospect in my daydreams, the reality of doing so was an entirely different
scenario, particular when I was, seemingly, being pushed out of the nest so
eagerly by my mother without her even ruffling a feather!

After reading the romantic, sentimental novels written by Aussie
novelist F.J. Thwaites I fell under the spell of his brooding, mysterious
heroes. In all his books, the handsome, rugged protagonist always had a stray,
wayward lock of hair falling wantonly and carelessly upon his broad brow. He’d suffered emotional
damage in his past whether through his own fault or that of others. He of the
wayward, errant lock was in need of redemption. His tortured soul desperately required
healing; his broken, battered cold heart screamed out in silence wanting to be mended and warmed.Who better to up the heat, than the innocent,
young governess from the city to cure all his ills; or the new teacher at the local country school?

The author took the reader to exotic places, not just to Australian outback
cattle stations, but to the mystic East; to tropical islands; to the sands of
the Sahara;across to the Alps in Switzerland and beyond.No matter where the locale, the hero was
always a wounded, tormented soul; and the brave heroine, not one to ever give
up, fought to the end to mend and win his heart.She always succeeded in her endeavours; and
they lived happily ever after.F. J. Thwaites
most certainly was the precursor to Mills and Boon.

It was Thwaites' fault I toyed with the idea of becoming a governess way out west. For all I
knew, there in the hot, dusty outback my knight in shining armour could very
well have been waiting for me to rescue him.I never became a governess, so the poor fellow is probably still waiting, but as I've taken so long to venture out beyond the Great Divide his once shining armour is now rusty.

Of course, distance was also why I didn’t follow up being a
movie star.Hollywood, with all its glitz and glamour
beckoned, but it was too far away!

Call me a chicken, I don’t mind.I was a spring chicken then; now I’m just an
old chook!

I often dreamed of being a singer - without the twerking, of
course - wowing audiences far and wide. A dampener promptly put paid to that
brilliant idea. When I sing in the shower the water runs, screaming, back up the shower
head quick smart; a fair indication there is no future on the stage for me. I’m
no “Singing Budgie”; I’m more an “Off-Key Galah”.

What to be when I grow up is an important decision to make;
one not to be taken lightly. Until I
know definitely what I want to do when I grow up, I shall remain in pondering
mode. There is no hurry….

What's this? We have to grow up? But I was having so much fun being a kid!oh well, if I must. I could be a drummer or piano player for a rock band. Not that I know how, but have you heard the music of today? It wouldn't matter, surely.or I could own and run a secondhand bookstore with a coffee'n'cake section. I'd make the cakes.

I was anxious to see how you were going to work Sweater Girls into this. At one point as a kid, I wanted to work on a garbage truck. Thought it would be fun to ride on the back of the truck all day. Glad that one didn't work out.

Riding on the back of a garbage truck would be a much easier job these days, Dexter...because now they're all automatic/hydraulic-operated or whatever...the garbage men of today have it easy...they don't have to lift a finger, let alone a garbage bin.

So your dream could still come true...just think of all the streets you'd visit that you didn't know existed! ;)

Hiya Granny Annie...I'm not sure what ingredients you're unsure of...perhaps it's the capsicum you're referring to....capsicums are known in the US as bell peppers, or red peppers/green peppers. Passata is tomato puree. Other than those you have/know the rest.

To grow up would be rather disappointing don't yawl think? I just screamed with laughter as I read the shower scene. To grow up means you are boxed and cannot get out and your imagination goes as stale as twenty year old bread. Peace

I wanted to be Maureen O'Hara, pirate queen. Then Cyd Charisse, her of the gorgeous legs and beautiful gowns. When I was about 7, I wanted to be George from the Famous Five...oh the list goes on. As I haven't grown up yet, these days a female version of Dr Who appeals, purely because I could then have a Tardis!